


Mistook You For An Angel.

by flyingmousetrap



Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Weeping Angels up in here, M/M, Supernatural canon AU, Superwho, That fic where Cas is a Weeping Angel, post Angels of Manhatten, tweaking of Weeping Angel rules but no worse than Moffat has done himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingmousetrap/pseuds/flyingmousetrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he was twelve years old Dean Winchester has been stalked by a statue. In fact, he's pretty sure it might have even saved his life once or twice, though he never quite figured out how. But now there are new monsters cropping up, new enemies - and new allies; and they seem to think his guardian angel is something much more sinister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Dean talks to a statue because it's the polite thing to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to start this off quickly, with this wee prolouge - but there will be more soon; i'm really excited to finally have time to write this and I can't wait to get a bit further to where the story really kicks off.

The first time Dean saw the angel he was twelve years old, it was a Thursday.

It was one of the very first times his Dad had taken him along on a hunting trip, it was a horrible day – not raining anymore, but damp and freezing cold – and the mud was soaking its way up Dean’s jeans with determination that could possibly match the vengeful spirit that they were here to hunt. Well, _they_ weren’t really here to hunt anything – this was just a little reconnaissance, safe in the middle of the day where the chances of Dean getting hurt were at a minimum, but he was allowed to carry his very own sawn-off, so it was totally cool. Dean followed after his dad diligently, working hard to keep up the pace whilst watching as John took down names and dates of birth, trying to notice the invisible patterns this father seemed to be following. John was even starting to answer questions and let Dean look at the long list he’d catalogued when Dean had to break the totally cool and very hunterish demeanour he’d been keeping up and squeak out an embarrassed;  
‘Dad, I really gotta pee.’ John looked at him then with a look that Dean would one day recognise as a sort of John Winchester patented combination of exasperation and affection, before pointing off towards some trees just over the graveyard’s boundary.  
‘Do your business,’ he said gruffly before stalking off, and Dean quickly hurried away, trying not to trip over the broken pieces of stone lying here and there – this was a seriously messed up looking graveyard. Dean made sure that he was outside the boundary before he unzipped his pants – no need to go pissing off any ghosts unnecessarily after all, and no man wanted to be caught with his flies down.  
As soon as he was done Dean quickly zipped up and started jogging back to where he’d separated from dad – the old man couldn’t have got that far ahead - but it only took him about five minutes of wandering around ivy covered mausoleums and ducking around tall marble statues to realise that he was 100% lost. He was trying very hard not to panic, like really hard, but the fact of the matter was he was alone in a graveyard with at least three known ghosts, dad had taken his sawn-off whilst he went to do his business, and being alone right now was really not on Dean’s to-do list.  
‘Keep it cool, Winchester.’ He said quietly, bunching his fists and keeping his voice as level as he could, and as deep as he could – like his dad’s. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and, upon opening them looked around – he’d get up high, that’s what he’d do, he’d totally be able to see his dad from the top of one of the mausoleums. Dean wandered around for a few more, totally not frantic, minutes, before his eyes settled on a tall crypt with long ivy hanging down the sides. He hurried over and gave the vines a sharp tug to make sure they wouldn’t come away from the stone and then he quickly scrabbled up the side and onto the roof. At that point Dean then let out a not at all high pitched pre-teen yelp whilst barely managing to keep his footing – there was someone already sat on the roof.  
‘Shit’ Dean breathed, looking at the statue that was practically taking up the entire roof, after a beat he started edging towards it; it was an angel. A really sad and very _weird_ looking angel; life sized. It looked like it was meant to be sitting on some kind of vent in the crypt roof, like a box that it had settled itself on top off, but it was hard to tell – the statue had some kind of long coat thing going on, all draped around where it’s legs were, hanging with a realism that Dean kind of found unnerving; but what really got to Dean was the wings, and its face. The wings were huge, sprouting out from the back of the statue; each feather carved in its own position even as they trailed limply, covering the back of the roof like some kind of fluffy, but decidedly rocky, cape. Above where the wings popped out of its coat there was a collar, and above that, hair – again carved to a freakish amount of detail – short messy spikes that led to a forehead and face that were completely covered by delicate looking hands. The angel looked like it was crying.  
‘Cheer up dude.’ Dean found himself saying, the words feeling natural as they occurred to him, but still sounding awkward as hell, ‘I’m the one who’s lost.’ He was gripped with an odd urge to pat the statue on the shoulder, but resisted for fear of looking like some kind of sap. He regarded the odd thing for another moment before casting his gaze outwards from the roof to look for his dad – he couldn’t see him. ‘Crap’ Dean muttered, quickly clambering over the spread stone wings so he could look from the other side – still no sign of John. He gave the angel a quick once-over again trying to work out if he could climb it to get a better look, before deciding that clambering over a crying angel was probably not cool, but that didn’t stop him from leaning against it as he tried to straighten up as tall as he could get, his hands steady against the cold, pale stone.  
‘Dean!’ came a gruff bark from directly in front of the crypt, and Dean went from leaning on the angel to clinging to it as he tried not to fall over, this time managing to keep the girly scream inside where it belonged. He quickly removed himself from its shoulder though, brushing himself down and scrambling towards the edge of the roof to look down at his incredibly unimpressed looking father.  
‘I’m coming!’ he said, trying to ignore the roll of John’s eyes as he swung his legs over the ledge to jump down, he hung there for a moment, looking back at the angel – even as he heard his Dad let out a disgruntled sigh and start to walk away – ‘see you around buddy.’ Dean said without really thinking, passing it off as automatic manners towards a statue that looked _way_ too lifelike. ‘Try and cheer up eh?’ then he let go, landing on his feet with a low thud before racing after his dad. John didn’t hand the sawn-off back and Dean knew better than to ask.  
‘You going to actually pay attention next time you tag along?’ John asked as they reached the car, and Dean nodded eagerly – at least he hadn’t blown it entirely.  
‘Yes sir!’ he nearly chirped, and was rewarded with a ruffle of his hair.

The angel lowered its hands to watch them drive away, a frown worming its way across its forehead now that it was freely unobserved.


	2. Blink And You'll Miss It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually ended up cutting this chapter in half so I could keep a reveal for next time, so I hope this is enough to tide anyone over for now.

Dean never really thought that much about that one trip out on a hunt with his dad, after all there is only so much a young boy wants to dwell on undeniably embarrassing moments, but he did think about the statue every now and then. Mostly because he just kept on seeing it. Or statues kind of like it anyway. He never saw another angel statue sitting about looking miserable on a roof with its wings all flapping all over the place, but he did see a couple of stone figures here and there; long coats flapping in that creepily real way, short messy hair carved to each strand in detail. He mentioned it to Sammy once; the kid was reading some book he’d brought home from school, about ancient Greeks or something – Dean had leafed through it to see if there were any ancient monsters in it but no luck, there was, however, a lot about statues.  
‘Did people used to do like, series of those?’ Dean asked, watching his brother leaf through the book at that annoyingly fast pace of his.  
‘Of what? The books?’ Sam asked, not taking his nose out from in-between the pages, nerd.  
‘No, the statues – did people like, make a whole load of them in a set?’ Sam finally looked up now, peering at him over the cover, eyes narrowed.  
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, prissy, and Dean felt himself bristle as he tried not to outright pout at the kid.  
‘Like would people do a whole set that all matched; like one guy but not all the same?’ A frown worked its way across Sam’s forehead now.  
‘All from the same model you mean?’ he asked, lowering the book as he continued to look at Dean funny.  
‘Yeah, like that.’ Dean nodded quickly, glad that they were on the same page; Sam thought about it for a moment.  
‘I guess so,’ he said contemplatively, ‘if the model was good enough to do lots of different poses from – it would probably be handy to just have the one person around actually.’ He narrowed his eyes ‘Why would you care?’ Dean looked down at his hands, trying to ignore the feeling of his ears going pink; Sam would totally think this was weird.  
‘I keep on seeing these statues’ he muttered, ‘they’re all the same guy but different and they’re all over the place.’ Sam rolled his eyes.  
‘If you’re talking about Lincoln or something equally boring and trying to weird me out then quit it.’ He groused, turning his attention back to the book, Dean’s head snapped up.  
‘No!’ he said, and Sam looked up to eye him again ‘It’s this angel, this weird angel in a trench coat with these massive wings and stupid hair and I swear to god I’ve seen like nine of them and they were all the same guy.’ Sammy just blinked  
‘Say what?’ came the reply after a pause and Dean took a deep breath.  
‘There was this statue, in a graveyard – I was out with dad it’s not really important – and it was this angel and it was crying and really creepy-realistic and kind of weirded me out? But then obviously we _left_ the graveyard but I’ve seen the same angel Sammy, swear to God, except the rest of them weren’t crying.’  
‘What were they doing?’ Sam asked, his voice serious – at least he wasn’t making fun.  
‘Staring, mostly’ Dean said with a half-shrug, ‘In fact one of them totally had its head tilted’ he demonstrated, ‘like this, and was totally doing this creepy full-grown angel-man puppy dog look.’ Sam snorted.  
‘Creepy angel _puppy_ statues?’ he repeated, with a grin ‘Are you serious?’ Dean scowled  
‘Shut up Sammy,’ he grumbled, ‘I was trying to be serious; they’re weird.’ Sam smiled more honestly now, and nodded.  
‘I get it,’ he said peaceably, ‘but yeah, they’re probably just commissions that one artist made – I mean if they’re crazy detailed like you said then a load of them probably got bought, they would have ended up all over the place.’ Dean let out a sigh he hadn’t really known he was holding in, Sammy had a great way of rationalising things sometimes – smartass twerp that he was.  
‘Yeah I guess so.’ Dean said, leaning back to lie down on the bed he was perched on the edge of; ‘Thanks for the heads-up Sammy’ Sam smiled, and went back to reading.  
‘You totally gotta point it out to me though,’ the younger Winchester said after a moment, ‘the next time you see one.’  
‘Totally.’ Dean agreed.

x-x-x

This wasn’t his first hunt but it might as well have been – he was getting his ass handed to him like he’s never even seen a ghost before. As it was this was his fifth, he was practically a veteran – a seventeen year old veteran who should totally not be flying through the air right now.  
‘Son of a-‘ the final expletive was crushed out of him as he collided with a ridiculously hefty gravestone, stars dancing in front of his eyes for a moment after the back of his head hit hard granite. He quickly scrabbled to his feet, looking for the iron bar and canister of salt he’d been holding before Casper the not so friendly douche had chucked him nearly twenty feet. He couldn’t see them anywhere and quickly cursed again under his breath, resisting the urge to call out to his dad – he could deal with this himself. Dean pulled his spare torch from his inside jacket pocket and shone it around quickly, Casper had ghosted off somewhere else by the looks of it, probably thinking that Dean was out for the count, he wasn’t overly surprised that it hadn’t gone in for the kill – according to dad’s research it was only going for girls. Apparently it was convinced that they were ‘impure’ because it was some kind of super sexist religious nutjob from back when girls weren’t allowed to read or whatever. Basically it was a dick, and a ghost, so it had to go.  
‘Where’re you hiding douchbag?’ Dean called out, his dad was dealing with this guy’s corpse whilst he was running the distraction tactic, so Dean had to take the lead. ‘You gonna run off like some girl? You think I’m too much for you to handle?’ John had commented recently that Dean was almost too good at antagonising ghosts into appearing, Dean chose to take it as a compliment.  
‘Come on you bible-bashing hick.’ Dean was getting into this now, ‘Or are your skirts all messed up from that one little throw?’ The answer to this became very clear very quickly as Dean was picked up by the shirt collar, and thrown again, this time hitting a statue and crumpling into a heap at its feet, he thinks his head might be bleeding.  
‘Unforgivable indecency.’ The ghost hissed, Dean looked up at it blearily his vision swimming slightly as the ghost solidified a few feet away, deep sunken eyes staring maliciously.  
‘Bring it.’ He wheezed, damn, he must have hit the statue hard. The ghost drifted towards him, slowly waving the long knife that had just appeared in its scabby looking hand, Dean tried to stand; gripping onto the statue behind him and leaning heavily against it, he glared at the ghost blearily.  
And it stopped.  
Dean blinked, staring as the ghost’s gaze moved from him, to just above his head, and then it disappeared; just like that.  
He stood there for a while, waiting for something to happen whilst he slowly got his breath back, but it didn’t reappear. After a few minutes it occurred to him that the ghost hadn’t been looking at _him_ before it scarpered, and he slowly turned around, and then tried not to let out an undignified yelp; it was one of those fucking angels.  
‘Jesus you’re a scary looking one’ he said after a moment, in a voice that was smaller than he would have liked, and it was. Its face was thunderous, and its entire posture was rigidly antagonistic; it’s centre of gravity lowered and giant wings outspread, like it was going to pounce or something – not to mention that it looked like it was freaking _snarling_. ‘Who the fuck put you in a graveyard?’ Dean demanded half-heartedly of it, ‘You’re terrifying.’ He looked at it a little longer, before shuddering slightly and moving away, ‘well I guess you scared him off,’ Dean admitted to it, ‘guess the bible freak would be a little spooked by an angel with a face like _that_.’ He chuckled, ‘heh, _spooked_.’ Damn, he must have hit his head harder than he thought; that wasn’t even funny.  
He slowly limped his way over to where John had just started to fill the grave in. He forgot to tell Sammy about seeing the angel again.

x-x-x

This time it was Sammy that spotted it. And, to Dean’s great annoyance later on, it was Sammy that first saw it move.  
They were at this motel that basically wasn’t even a motel; it was this kind of quaint converted cottage/barn thing? Apparently it used to be a farm and all the different buildings had been converted into rooms so they could be rented out; it was all red brick, ivy, and floral prints – totally a granny’s perfect getaway, and Dean hated it. Predictably, though whether through bad taste or just a need to be contrary, Sam thought it was awesome. He’d taken to exploring the entire place, from the stupid little buildings to the ridiculously primped walled gardens – Dean had taken to lying on the too-squishy bed perfecting dissembling/reassembling the new handgun he’d got for his birthday.  
Eventually Sam came back into the room, looking far too excited for a kid who’d probably spent the last hour cataloguing flowers or something equally stupid.  
‘Guess what I found!’ he trilled, dumping his stupidly lanky self onto the bed next to Dean, who shut his eyes and scowled.  
‘Some kind of butterfly or something even more dorky?’ he grumbled, he was trying to work with _guns_ here.  
‘Nope’ A shit-eating grin was plastered all over Sam’s face now and Dean turned his scowl up to eleven.  
‘What then?’ he grunted, standing up and putting the gun away; he could tell he was about thirty seconds away from being dragged away to look at this mystery object. Sam’s grin managed to get even wider.  
‘I think I found one of your angels!’ Sam answered excitedly, ‘In the garden right at the back.’ Dean’s head snapped around at that.  
‘How do you know it’s one of mine?’ He asked, eyes narrow and Sam just stood up, reaching to tug on his sleeve like he was ten years old all over again.  
‘Because it’s got the trench coat and the wings and, dude, you were not kidding about the hair – it’s crazy detailed, c’mon.’ he tugged again and Dean dutifully followed him out of the door and onto the stupid little garden path that connected up all the buildings.  
‘It’s right at the back.’ Sammy said, sounding nearly breathless with excitement as he pulled Dean through several of the little individual walled gardens that took up all the space to the rear of the rooms – they all had stupid little themes apparently. He dropped his sleeve to push at a big wooden door in the wall that they’d stopped in front of, ‘it’s just in the next one’ he said, pushing against it with his shoulder, ‘stupid door’s got jammed.’ Dean was contemplating whether he should help or just tell Sammy to put his back into it when he noticed the angel in the corner.  
‘Dude’ he said, gesturing at it, ‘it’s right there.’ Sam turned, frowning as he saw the statue, nearly hidden where it was; like it was hiding behind the tree.  
‘That’s not the one I saw.’ He said slowly, ‘it was in the next garden’. Dean raised an eyebrow.  
‘You sure?’ he asked, and Sam nodded defiantly,  
‘Totally – they must have more than one; the one I saw had its hands in its pockets.’ He didn’t sound so sure now though, and Dean rolled his eyes.  
‘Then get that door open and we can compare them or something.’ He said, turning back to the door, Sam nodded, ‘I’ll even let you make nerdy notes if you like, bitch.’ Sam grinned.  
‘Jerk.’ He replied happily, before giving the door a good shove with his shoulder, it finally swung open and Sam practically fell through it, Dean having to fight back a laugh.  
‘You alright there Sammy?’ he asked, trying to feign concern, although there was a twitch of uncertainty as Sammy didn’t reply.  
‘It’s gone.’ Came the quiet reply, and Dean frowned,  
‘Say what?’ he heard Sam scrabble to his feet as he came back through the doorway  
‘I said it’s go-‘ Sam froze, Dean knew his brother well enough to see it was instinctual, not a choice, to see there was terror in his little brothers eyes. He turned around slowly;  
The angel was right behind him. Dean froze himself, although every single cell he was comprised of was screaming at him to run; he had priorities.  
‘Sammy. Go.’ He gritted out, though his own words seemed barely audible over the thundering of his panicked heart, why did he leave the gun in the room?  
‘Dean-' Sammy stuttered.  
‘Now!’ Dean roared, and he heard Sam turn on his heels and scarper. The Angel didn’t move, it didn’t look like it could, it was a statue, it was stone, and cold, cracked and weather worn, blank eyes in a carved face, but it had moved to him, it was staring _at him_.  
He was going to run after Sammy, find out if you could kill a statue with a glock, when he blinked.  
And then it was gone.  
Dean didn’t pass-out, exactly, but he also didn’t remember walking back to the room, holding onto a shaking Sam who hadn’t even been on his first hunt yet, and then calling their dad on the emergency number to tell him he had to come home right away.  
He didn’t see another angel after that, not for a long time.


End file.
